


In an Instant

by Coffee_Scribbles



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Crowley is just a little bit good, Getting Together, Heaven is cruel and full of twats, Heaven trying to be manipulative and failing, Hell being manipulative, M/M, Mutual Pining, Platonic Cuddling, hell is similar but at least they're up-front about it, like LOADS of pining, long fic, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-08-10 22:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_Scribbles/pseuds/Coffee_Scribbles
Summary: Crowley knew that the next great battle would be between an allied hell and heaven, against the whole of humanity.And yet here he was, leading the charge, with an angel by his side.Leading an army of humans against his own etherial people.This should be fun.





	1. Not Even God Can Know

Something you must first realize before you can truly… truly understand.  
They were not supposed to be alive. Here, now.

And this time, he was not talking about the supposed Armageddon that had recently not come about.  
This was before that. Before the thought of such a catastrophe even occurred to God herself.

This was after Crowley fell, and only a few minutes before Aziraphale knew much of anything about it.

A man in white robes cut the darkness by the holy flames of his sword. With slow stead to his step, the man in white prowled the greenery at the south side of the great garden.  
With a steady hand, the man in all white guided his blade from side to side in a practiced flow. His many eyes searching for anything out of place, each blinking, searing into the darkness.  
Normally, this was not his job.  
But tonight was far from normal.

Tonight was the first night after the great fall; where Lucifer and his minions fell to earth after their betrayal of God.  
God, in all her great wisdom, figured that the fallen may try to disrupt the two humans and their paradise.

It was unlikely, of course. The fallen had just been given a rather strong thrashing by God herself. It was far more likely that they were tending to their wounds, bitterly fighting amongst themselves over who’s fault was what and how things should have gone.

At this, the angel in all white was more right than he may first think.

But, the angel supposed, it was not his place to question the Great One’s orders. If she wished for he, Aziraphale, one of her most powerful angels, to be down here, patrolling the southern border —one considerably safer than his usual patrol—, than he would do so with reverence.

Not that it meant he believed anything would happen, but he supposed if some demon were to come along… he would rather handle it himself, maybe try to understand them. Get them out before any more pain had to come.

This, of course, when something did happen. Just as the Aziraphale was about to take a moments rest.  
That something was, against all odds, a noise.

Not a noise he was used to. This was not a rustle of a branch, or any of the small animals. Or even one of the humans moving about for unknowable reasons, though, just in case it was, —as it had sounded about that size— Aziraphale hid most of his eyes, excluding the two on his face. For some reason, the extra eyes did not sit well with the humans.

The noise came again, and with great care, the angel Aziraphale moved through the brush.  
The sound was something like a grunt, but the clenching sound had too many teeth.

The aura of it felt dangerous, yet at the same time… afraid. 

Aziraphale knew he was close, he could feel it. Yet, after a few moments of carefully pushing through loose brush, all he could see was a wall. Vines grew up high on the brick, tall bushes across the lower portion, where he faced. He was… rather confused.  
There seemed to be nothing there… and yet-

A wet snap, like bone snapping against bone. The sound from inside was almost guttural, but quiet, as if being forcibly muffled by its maker.

Aziraphale decided in an instant, pushing aside some cleverly lain sticks and leaves, and squeezing through the small, low opening between two tall bushes, so low he was nearly crawling to get into, what he could then identify as a small underground cavern.  
Whatever was in here, it was hurt, and it needed help. And it was his duty as an Angel, a force of good, to help all of gods creatures.

Of course, as soon as Aziraphale actually saw the creature so in need of help, he quickly changed his mind, and drew his sword high.  
The aura had been right all along. Whatever this was, it was dangerous.

“Send the scourge, I send my sword, thus say the Lord.”  
Aziraphale stated strongly, stance low, ready to pounce.

The sudden light and sound caused the creature to cringe. Its body was battered, large, soot stained wings seeming broken and burnt.  
Then it turned.

“Angel.” The creature identified him, a clawed hand shielding his eyes from the blade’s holy light.

Aziraphale nodded, looking down upon the broken creature. He was badly hurt, and obviously no threat… but still, something kept the angel’s guard up.  
“I am.”

“And you are?” Aziraphale asked curiously, slowly, never quite daring to fully lower his sword.

“Take a wild guess,” The poor creature sneered, looking at his broken wing as if it had failed him out of some sort of spite.

That’s when it clicked.

Aziraphale gripped his sword again, tighter. He wasn’t quite sure why, this creature truly was not a threat.  
But the flames burnt steady and bright.  
“You are…” Aziraphale swallowed, “one of the fallen.”

The creature snorted like he was holding in a laugh.

“So that’s what we’re called now, ey?” The creature asked, turning to finally face Aziraphale.  
His eyes were slitted tight, and it was hard to tell if that was because he felt threatened, or because of the bright holy light. They were surrounded by orange and yellow, dancing, mirroring the dark flames.  
Scales crawled up the fallen creature’s skin in patches, but it was hard to tell what was scales and what was burnt and peeling skin.

“The fallen,” he mocked with a sneer, distaste shining clear as day.

“You, were an angel?” Aziraphale asked. It was a simple question, but spoken… with such genuine curiosity that the creature was almost taken aback.  
The angel’s sword hung low at his side, aglow with soft, holy fire; dimmer now.  
The demon’s slit eyes widened just a bit.

The slit eyed man sighed, retracting the wing that he had defensively spread wide, wincing as he brought it close again. The other wing stayed unmoving, tucked close to his side.  
He fiddled with it for a moment.  
“I suppose we all make mistakes.”

The angel, to that, only looked down. Pausing, as if somewhere between thought and fear.

“That’s all it was? A mistake?”

His voice was smaller now, and there was doubt there.  
The slit eyed man was not sure if he liked it or not.

“Yes,” the slit eyed man lied, “that’s all.”

There was a pause as the slit eyed man turned away.

Aziraphale swallowed.

“Would you… like some help?”

The broken wing tensed, as if somehow it could feel afraid while it’s owner sat by, seeming nearly as relaxed as ever.

“I’m fine,” the demon stated slowly, taking the wing closer.  
It trembled.  
Aziraphale moved his sword slowly closer, and with the slow light shining upon it, the angel could truly see the extent of the damage.  
There were feathers on the wing that seemed like they had been forcibly torn off, other parts covered in claw marks. But the worst of it were the burns. All across his skin, searing the feathers off his wings. They were black as soot, as if they had been burned. And damp, though that was more than likely a purposeful action from the demon.

“I am sure you believe that you are,” Aziraphale spoke strongly.  
He had decided; whatever was in here, it was hurt, and it needed help. It was his duty as an Angel, a force of good, to help all of gods creatures.  
And that meant all of them.

“But your wing is broken,” he stressed, moving toward the injured man.  
“I believe I can-“

“Don’t touch me!” The man hissed sharply, his slitted pupils flickering harshly. He was coiled, backed up against the wall. His wings were puffed, the healthy one straining against the walls and ceiling of the cave, while the other wing tried to force itself to extend as well.

He was… afraid.

It took Aziraphale a moment to realize why, to realize how he must look.  
White wings still mostly open, healthy and dominating the space. Blocking off the exit, he approached the cornered demon with a flaming holy sword in his hand, seeming ready to strike.

Aziraphale’s wings slowly, carefully tucked behind him.  
“Oh… kay.” His words were slow, and hopefully they would set the demon at some more ease.  
After a moment of thought, he set the weapon off to the side as well, where it could still give light, but without feeling so threatening.

It left Aziraphale feeling a tad more defenseless, but it seemed to help.  
“I wont touch you then.”

The demon seemed less tense, and slowly, his black wings began to tuck behind him as well.

“But I can help,” Aziraphale insisted stubbornly, chin lifting up and eyes meeting those slitted with the fierceness of water fighting flame.  
There was a long pause, and to fill it, Aziraphale stuck out his hand.

“I am The Cherubim Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, and protector of the tree-”

“Fine,” the demon spoke sharply.

Aziraphale paused a moment, confused.

The demon continued.  
“You can help me. But I don’t care about your name, since we’re never going to see each other again, right?” The demon looked to the ground, as if sneering at the very thought.

“Oh, ah, well of course.” Aziraphale spoke, laughing awkwardly.  
The sound echoed in the cave, lonely.

Insecurely, he spoke one last time.  
“Shall we?”

“Angel, are you alright?” Crowley’s voice was soft, almost as soft as the black feathers that Aziraphale had only just realized he had been stroking.  
Crowley was lain sideways across the couch, back turned, wings taken into the angel’s grasp. He was fiddling with his sunglasses.

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale sat straight up from where he had been lounging.  
“Well, well of course I am,” the angel pulled his hands from those dark, soft wings, interlacing them in his lap. Head turning all about the room, not so subtly avoiding his companion’s eyes.

Crowley knew this behavior quite well at this point in their relationship, so with the same gentleness the angel had used when they first met, Crowley’s head lulled backward, his wings still rested in the angel’s lap.

There, he simply watched his angel.

“You’re remembering something.” It was a statement of fact, and Aziraphale’s frantic blinking and wringing of his hands like old rags only confirmed it.

“Crowley, I…” Aziraphale’s hands began to nervously reach out for the familiar touch of his companion, but pulled away as soon as he realized just what they were reaching for.  
He stared down at the forgotten book in his lap, pages open, yet unread. 

Crowley grabbed his hand, turning to face Aziraphale. Soft, pale skin against his own calloused tan.  
Aziraphale stared at the ground as if it had suddenly turned into a hundred baby snakes and he just couldn’t handle how cute they were; but he did not remove his hand from Crowley’s.

“I suppose I’m just worried,” He looked up, and to Crowley’s surprise there was a smile there, on his thin lips. One so small, yet so powerful, Crowley almost wondered if the smile were there to reassure him.  
At that, it failed, rather spectacularly he might add. Or, he could simply not add anything at all; which ended up the easier path.  
And where for better of for worse, that was the path he chose.

“About which one?” Crowley asked, tiredly raising an eyebrow and lounging slightly backward.

“Pardon?” Aziraphale asked.

“We have about seventy THOUSAND things to worry over, angel,” Crowley gestured loudly with his free hand; the one not currently occupied with holding the softest, smallest, most adorable hand in existence.  
“Which in particular is refusing to let you chill?”

Aziraphale’s smile seemed genuine for a moment, and Crowley took that as an absolute success.  
But then it faded, lips pressing into a thin, worrisome line.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale spoke, the name spoken like a title.

“Yes, Angel?” Crowley leaned forward.  
Whatever this was, it was serious.

“When you asked me if we could go off to Alpha-Centauri together… Did you mean it?”

Crowley drew a blank there.  
He had damn near dragged Aziraphale to Alpha-Centauri by his wings; and the man thought he hadn’t been serious?

“Y-Yeah, of course I did. Why? Are you having second thoughts?” Crowley had thought that Aziraphale loved it here; in his little bookshop, with his soft furniture and their twice monthly dining’s at the Ritz.

“Oh, no no, I do!” Aziraphale spoke quickly, shaking his head.  
“Earth is lovely, it always has been…” He sighed, the sound somewhere between dreamy and weary.  
“I’m just….”  
Aziraphale made a flailing gesture, as if trying to communicate something that simply could not be put into words.

Somehow, he succeeded.  
“…Oh.” Crowley said, finally understanding.

“Yes…” Aziraphale’s voice was full of a dirty flavor of regret.  
“I suppose ‘oh’ is a valid reaction.”  
He seemed rather guilty, bringing up such a thing at all, especially when just a few minutes ago they had been peacefully sitting together. No sign of worry in the world.

“You’re afraid Heaven and Hell will find out,” Crowley said.

“Well… not necessarily,” Aziraphale failed at denying it. “…but I suppose making ourselves harder to find may be rather a better plan than waiting like sitting ducks.”

There was another simple pause, and after a moment, Crowley relaxed slightly.  
“I guess I understand.”

“Y-You do?” Aziraphale asked, rather startled.  
“I mean, ah, usually I’m the worrier here.” He tried again, and failed again, to crack a smile.

“It’s a valid concern, I’m afraid.” Crowley sighed, standing, beginning to pace.

“What… do you mean?” Aziraphale’s heart began to beat faster, and not in a good way. He pushed himself to the edge of his seat, flipping his forgotten book closed.  
“Have you heard something?”

“No.” Crowley was quick to soothe his companions nerves, but he could never lie to Aziraphale.  
“Well, nothing definitive.”

Aziraphale did not seem very soothed.

Crowley only began to elaborate once he had found a space on the floor that was not covered in books, and was large enough to pace in.  
“For obvious reasons, Heaven and Hell have been doing their damnedest to figure out how the hell it’s possible.” Crowley explained, “for us to, you know, do what we ‘did’.” He finished with air quotes.

“Yes, but they are not remotely close to finding out!” Aziraphale tried to reason. “And for all they know, it is impossible. So is it not simply silly to worry?”

Crowley wanted to say yes, if only to make Aziraphale feel better.  
But he could never lie to the angel.

Crowley was not silent often, and when he was, it was usually not a good sign. And when the angel go no reply… well, Crowley’s silence was rather deafening. Almost claustrophobic, like a thousand walls closing in on him at once.

“I-It’s not as if they’ll just come knocking on our door any time soon… right?” Aziraphale’s denial was frantic at best.

“Well,” Crowley could never lie to his angel.  
“It’s not exactly like this’ll be the end of it, angel,” Crowley turned, his pacing paused in favor of standing in the doorway, holding the frame and trying to do his best to split the quickly diverging lines of making the angel feel better, whilst telling him the honest truth.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, just stared at his book, no longer even pretending to read. Unfocused eyes just… watching the olive green cover, watching the faded labels as if they could provide any answers at all.

“Even if they never figure it out,” Crowley gestured in large motions with his hand, “it’s not as if they wont ever bother us again, just because of one stunt.”  
As much as he wished he could take it all back, wipe the horribly sad look from Aziraphale’s face, Crowley knew the angel needed to hear this. He needed to be aware, and prepared for the outcome that… well, it could all just be downhill from here.

There was a long, empty pause. The room, small in hight but large in the distance between the two of them; a distance that only seemed to grow, a gulf that swallowed every word they could say and left them in a stagnant silence.

Crowley knew anything more he could say now, would do nothing but worsen the situation.  
Aziraphale had to have some time to think this over on his own, and as much as Crowley wished he could, there was no way to help the angel with that.

And so, Crowley left, and the emptiness only seemed to grow.


	2. Of Love and Lukewarm Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale run into Hell and Heaven.... just not in the way they thought they might.

Crowley was not a fan of the wet.  
Rain pattered across his large black umbrella, chilly and filled with a damp musk.  
The air was heavy with a thick mist, comparable to being wrapped in a thick duvet that had just been taken out of the dishwasher and was absolutely sopping wet.  
It was suffocating, but not too terribly cold.  
With wind whipping at the edges of his coat, scarf and gloves, all Crowley could really do was walk slightly faster through the rather unfortunate weather. That, and glower up at the clouds. They just giggled at him, like the childish, pranking bastards they were.  
The wind, in it’s rude and sudden changing of direction —that did not give him enough time to tilt his umbrella and appropriately to block it— allowed the rain to continue dampening the lower hem of his trousers, as well as his new snakeskin shoes.  
His lip turned with a sneer as the cuff of his pant leg stuck to his calf.

Yes, it was definitely too wet for his tastes.

“Excuse me,” A young woman spoke. He could only see her vague silhouette in the thick mist.  
Crowley narrowed his eyes. He looked behind himself, and sure enough, he was the only one on the street.  
Crowley almost just ignored and walked past her, hoping to get into the small coffee house down the way, preferably before his trousers were wholly sticking to his shins.

“Excuse me,” the young woman spoke again, her tone sounded… eerily familiar. Commanding and sickeningly sweet; it made Crowley’s skin crawl.  
Crowley could feel that she was looking him directly in the eye; something many people feared to do, even through his thick sunglasses.  
It was odd.  
As he drew a block or so closer, all these oddities fell into place.

There, under the relative shelter of some closed building’s awning, was Archangel Michael.

What, in the actual, fresh. Fucking. Hell.

Crowley was immediately on edge. Had she found out about their switch? Did Heaven and Hell know? What about Aziraphale? Damn, Crowley knew he never should have left-  
There was a pause, and Crowley stopped moving, panic flickering just behind his eyes.  
They both fully saw each-other, through the mist and thick rain, and the archangel only grinned. Not so much like a predator cornering prey. This was no attack; but like a salesman about to swindle someone out of their life’s savings.  
This was something else.

“Ah, Crowley, there you are,” she spoke as if she had been expecting him; the words a low, monotone hum.  
It was rather unsettling, but then again, she was an Archangel, it’s very hard for them to be any sort of soothing.  
Crowley himself had found it quite hard to find anyone soothing, Angel or Demon, excluding perhaps Aziraphale.  
Aziraphale, who had quite literally gone to hell for him.  
Aziraphale, who’s place he had taken, committing a rather fantastical stunt that should have had them left alone for at least a century.

But no, of course not.  
Crowley glowered.

“Were you not there?” Crowley asked with a hiss, the words sharp. Expecting an attack, creating a pre-emptive defense of venom and words.

She raised only an eyebrow, the rain seeming to part above her, as if it too feared her wrath.

“Were you not there, when I told Hell that I wanted to be left alone?” Crowley spat coldly, his fear turning into anger that grew like a match to paper.

“I was,” she spoke slowly, but it wasn't so ‘holier than thou’ as she had in the past.  
“And as you know quite well, I am not of Hell.” She took a step forward.  
“And it is Heaven of which I have come to talk to you about.”

There was a pause. And as much as Crowley knew he wanted to just get the hell out of there, to scream, throw hellfire and damn the consequences…  
He knew that whatever happened to him, they could still hurt Aziraphale.

There really was no choice to make, after he remembered that.

“Alright then,” Crowley spoke coldly. “Talk.”

Archangel Michael smiled as if she had just won something, and she moved to duck under his umbrella.

Crowley, if on instinct and nothing else, backed away.

The Archangel frowned, deeper than was likely safe. Her eyes never parting from his, which felt as if they burned straight through his glasses.

“Alright.”  
She snapped, and the clouds above parted, just along their street.  
“Let us talk.” 

A sunbeam shot down directly upon them. Then, Crowley felt something that he hadn’t in what had to have been near an eternity.  
It was cold, yet sobering, and slightly soft, a feeling like some large hand had plucked his soul out from his chest, tugging it up toward the heavens, and taking him with it.

And then the street was empty.

Rain pounded upon the roof and windows of the old bookshop, and Aziraphale was in his kitchen, fixing himself a new, hot mug of tea.  
Crowley had been right, of course. His companion often was. And even if Aziraphale would rather just put it all to the back of his mind, practically speaking, there was no way he could.   
Sooner or later, something was bound to happen. And currently, the ball was in Heaven and Hell’s court, so to speak.

The antique chime of his doorbell rung.

It was far too soon to be Crowley, he’d practically just left.  
Aziraphale shrugged, he must have forgotten to lock up.

“We’re closed!” Aziraphale called from the other room, stirring in a spoonful of sugar.

“Principality Aziraphale,” a cold, gravely, almost sick-sounding voice spoke.  
Aziraphale froze, then, set down his tea.

He moved to the other room with a regal air, expecting one of the angels. But that is not what greeted him.

“Hastur, Duke of hell,” Aziraphale addressed.   
They watched each other from across the room.

“I am quite sure you realize that I am no longer with the Angels, and thus, am not implored to cause you harm.” Aziraphale spoke, he knew word traveled fast. Especially of such ‘impossible’ feats.

“Yes,” Hastur spoke, looking around the bookshop with almost a curious eye. “I know. We all… know.”

Another pause, and Aziraphale’s hand itched toward the cellphone on the small table behind him. He could get word to Crowley, warn him. If he could just…

“So then, why are you here?” Aziraphale fought the urge to summon his wings and his flaming sword. Intimidate this creature out from his home, and immediately go find Crowley.  
But if this was happening to him, it’s more than likely that something has already happened to Crowley.

Aziraphale just hoped he wasn’t too badly hurt; and that Crowley would have the sense to keep his mouth shut until Aziraphale could manage a plan. 

“Actually,” Hastur took a few more steps, seeming rather curious about the books and knick-knacks that lined the walls.  
“It’s because of that.” The demon stopped a couple feet from him. And even from here, Aziraphale could smell him; the stench of rot that seemed to cling to most demons, and somehow never even affected Crowley; who smelled far more like ash and sweet spices.

“Hell wants you,” Hastur spoke, like it was a gift. As if falling weren’t a punishment at all, but a blessing; a freedom.  
Then Aziraphale felt something he had never felt before, like being swallowed whole by something. Hard, sharp, yet somehow… comfortingly warm.  
“And we’re willing to do a lot to get you on our side.”   
Aziraphale tried to struggle against it for a moment, but then, it was as if the earth itself were opening up to invite him, tugging downwards into the depths.  
And it was a lot stronger than he was.


	3. Something Old, Something New, and Something Best Left Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's past comes up to taunt him.

Crowley was met with a bright light, so bright his eyes, even through his sunglasses, began to water. He squinted up at a place that was so different than when he had been a part of it, that it was practically an entirely different place.

Heaven.  
It was like one giant, sterilized operating room; the only procedure done here was removing one’s sense of self, and replacing it with blind obedience.  
Open and white, unquestioning and obedient.

Crowley was immediately reminded, upon entering this —rather ironically hellish— place, exactly why he had preferred being elsewhere.

Clean, white, cold and flat. The large rooms and high, echoing ceilings felt… unduly vulnerable.  
There was nowhere to hide; and for a snake such as he, no brush or foliage meant something closer to death than anything else.

“Ah Crowley, so good see you.” Gabriel’s voice was sharp and immediate.  
Crowley jumped, turning to face him.

“Or do you prefer Raphael?” Gabriel asked, ignoring Crowley’s obvious startle. His voice was easily the palest, least emotive thing in the room. And that was saying something, up here.  
“You know, since you’re on the side of the light again.”

He smiled like he had won something, and Crowley was beginning to despise that victorious look.

Crowley narrowed his eyes, and did his best to still the absolute terror filling his lungs.  
“I am on no one’s side, Gabriel,” Crowley snarled, taking a step into the Archangel’s space.

Gabriel’s teeth clenched. He turned to Michael with a movement so sharp it should have cut.

“Gabriel, he hasn’t quite… agreed yet.” Michael spoke, seeming rather ashamed of herself.

“Oh.” Gabriel seemed a little more than disappointed. The hands he stowed like weapons in the pockets of his powder blue coat clenched.

Some voice that sounded far too much like his angel, made him feel sorry for Michael, and before he knew it, Crowley was stepping between the two angels, his teeth bared in a slightly slack-jawed growl.

“I was cast out for asking questions,” Crowley spoke. He was incredibly uncomfortable, but he hid that as he always did, behind a popped hip and a snarky remark.  
“You think I’m going to re-join without asking a few more?”

Gabriel’s narrow eyes flickered for a moment, the smile he held steady on his face, like he had fishhooks in the corners of his mouth, grew.  
Gabriel stepped forward, his barrel frame somehow light across the silent, echoing tile.

“Well, for the record,” Gabriel clapped Crowley on the shoulder, and Crowley did not move, harsh as an immovable object, and twice as willful.  
He how had Gabriel’s full attention now on the demon.  
Crowley knew he did not like that. But the Archangel Michael seemed… well not quite grateful; rather more confused than anything else.

“I’ve never had any qualms with asking questions.” Gabriel’s hand, which was still holding Crowley’s shoulder with an uncomfortable strength and forced fondness, patted him again, before finally falling away.  
“Within reason of course.”

Crowley, after a good moment, finally spoke.  
“Yeah, sure.”

If Crowley weren’t fearing for both his, and Aziraphale’s life at the moment, he might have laughed when he noticed the Archangel Michael’s expression. A rather constipated mesh of extreme confusion, failing ego, and something else that had Michael slowly opening and closing her mouth much like a fish.

But he was still fearing for his life, so, Crowley only nodded at her; which did succeed in confusing the Archangel even more.

“In fact!” Gabriel spoke, smile growing even wider. The dull purple of his eyes was as if someone spilled blood across a sheet of ice, then tried, and failed, at camouflaging the mess. They turned away from Crowley.

It was like he had been dropped through a frozen pond, drowning, finally able to come up for air.  
And Crowley took another breath.  
Gabriel turned back; and Crowley was trapped under at icy sheet once more.

“I have a gift for you,” his voice was uncharacteristically… genuine?  
“Really, it’s more of… an act of good faith, you could say. For our up and coming partnership.” Gabriel spoke, his chin held high and ego likely somewhere above that.

“I have yet to agree to anything, Archangel.” Crowley was quick to snipe, but the words were weak.  
Gabriel preened at the title.  
What on earth could Gabriel offer him? And why? Was the Lord privy to this, or was it more off the books?

And why the hell did the floor not burn him like it had when he was pretending to be Aziraphale?

“I suppose so,” Gabriel spoke with a shrug that was so obviously meant to manipulate him, it was almost cartoonish.  
“And even if you don’t accept, I would still like you to have it.”  
Archangel Michael moved to stand to the left of Gabriel, nodding sagely.

Sandalphon approached, from where, Crowley couldn’t be sure. But he could sense what was in the large glass pitcher before the angel even got close enough for Gabriel to acknowledge him.  
Sandalphon handed Gabriel the pitcher with a slight bow of his head, and Gabriel proudly accepted it.

Crowley watched it slosh in the pitcher with absolute panic rattling to his very bones. Every demonic piece of him was shrieking in unison.

His pupils were dilated in holy terror, luckily still hidden behind his glasses, and with an almost ashen expression, the demon spoke, in a voice far calmer than he was.  
“Holy water?”  
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit SHIT.

“Yes.” Gabriel spoke. Luckily, the bastard was just as bad at reading people as he was interacting with them, so he had yet to notice.  
“Think of it as… insurance,” Gabriel’s smile returned, as if his cheeks had been sewn there, and someone was just tugging a the thread, widening and lowering his infuriating grin whenever they saw convenience.  
“Just in case Hell does try and bother you again.”

Crowley watched the water, still in Gabriel’s hands, held as one might a bottle of fine wine. 

“And why give this to me?” Crowley spoke slowly. He was doing his best to hide his fear. Everything they worked towards hinged on them believing that he was immune to holy water, if they found out…

“Well, we know it does nothing to you,” Sandalphon spoke, his voice tinged with a slight hiss, almost like a lisp, but more… annoying.

“And?” Crowley implored, staring directly at Gabriel. He knew that was where he would find all of the most useful answers.

“And from that we can infer a pureness to your soul that I, for one, trust in.” Gabriel spoke, holding the water out. Oblivious that a single drop could absolutely destroy the soul that they were trying so desperately to schmooze.  
“That is why we wish to work with you again, Raphael.” Gabriel spoke, holding it out even further, such that the glass was a few inches from Crowley’s chest. Michael nodded in proud agreement.

Gabriel kept saying that name. ‘Raphael’, as if being reminded of his fall was in any way going to make Crowley want to go back.  
His hands began to shake as gently, he took the glass. He knew if he were too apprehensive, if he showed too much or too little, everything could fall apart. The careful weave of lies that gave Aziraphale and Crowley any power at all could be unwoven if even one string were tugged.  
He had to agree; it was too good of an offer, far too advantageous for him to not.

“What would I need to do?” Crowley spoke, shoulders pressed like a man being sent on a suicide mission.  
“If I were to… work with you?”

There was a horrible, awful little glimmer in the angels eyes. As they stood in a straight, white line, across from him in perfect order. Never speaking over each other, never challenging each-other, unsettling in their total congruency. 

“Oh nothing extravagant,” Archangel Michael spoke with levity, “we would just like some… information.”

Now what was there that the angels couldn’t get to themselves? Maybe they wanted information on humanity; their societal structures and leaders. Or maybe on the young antichrist? Perhaps they would try and manipulate the child to their side as well-

“On Aziraphale.” Sandalphon spoke bluntly.

Behind his sunglasses, Crowley sharply blinked. If his hands were not busy keeping a pitcher of liquid death from spilling; he likely would have been loudly gesturing with them as he spoke next.  
“Why?” Crowley blurted damn near immediately. “You tried to kill him. Why would you-“

Gabriel held up a hand, and Crowley stopped; not entirely of his own volition.  
Had this fucker actually just miracled his mouth shut?

“Yes,” Gabriel looked off to the side, seeming rather sour.  
“But it wasn’t as if we enjoyed it!” Gabriel was quick to huff.

“It was quite unfortunate,” Michael nodded, seeming rather startlingly genuine. Unlike the other two angels, who just nodded solemnly.  
“Aziraphale is a good angel,” Sandalphon spoke. It sounded like it physically pained him to say it.  
“Though he is a tad close with humanity,” he mumbled with a sneer.

“He is still one of us.” Michael said, lifting her chin, “we would just like to check up on him. Nothing more.”

Now that was all obviously a lie.

After all, Crowley had been there for Aziraphale’s should-have-been-execution. He had actually participated quite a bit; and thus he knew quite well that they were talking straight out of their asses. Gabriel desperately wanted Aziraphale dead, and the others had not fought it one bit. 

Absolutely disgusting. 

“So,” Gabriel said, right back at it with his fish-hook grin. “What do you say?”

Crowley swallowed.

“I appreciate it,” Crowley said, after a moment of thought, he looked up at them again.  
“But I need time to think.”

With rather impossible synchronization, they frowned. 

“Of course,” Gabriel spoke with a slow nod.  
He slapped Crowley’s shoulder.

“But please, do remember,” Gabriel squeezed Crowley’s shoulder. “This is not an offer you will get more than once.”

Crowley nodded.


	4. The Enemy of my Enemy is Still a Bitch-Ass Motherfucker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell is both somehow worse and better than an angel might think.

A thousand voices called out to him at once. Souls that filled this place, billions of whispers that swirled around him like a winding road at midnight.

This hadn’t happened the last time he came, but last time, he hadn’t technically been an angel. That disguise had to be thick enough to fool Satan himself; and Aziraphale had though he’d to have done a damn good job.

But now, as an angel, it felt… different.  
True, this place was as cramped and disgusting, and near exactly how he remembered it to be…. only now, in this body, he did not fit in.

Crowds of shambling hordes brushed apart with no words spoken, and as Aziraphale tried to let his eyes adjust, he could feel a waft of warm air, inviting him onward.  
With hazy vision that only just allowed him to notice the several thousand pairs of passing eyes on him, Aziraphale, almost on instinct, moved toward the feeling.  
It was bright, like a pillar of pure light and… hope.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Hastur’s voice was oddly calm, and as Aziraphale finally scrubbed the remaining haze from his eyes, he could see it.

Just steps away from him was a glowing rod of hellfire.  
Aziraphale recoiled. Thankfully, Hastur didn’t notice, as he was too busy sticking his entire hand in it.

“Ah,” he clenched his fist, seeming considerably more relaxed as he rolled out his shoulder.  
“So soothing, ain’t it?” The demon asked, his blown pupils twitched in a way that made Aziraphale’s skin absolutely crawl.   
“Would you like ta’ give it a go?” He said, almost seeming like he wanted to watch, see for himself that the Angel could truly survive the heart and soul of hell’s energy.

Aziraphale knew denying would cast infinite suspicion, but it wasn’t as if he could just stick his hand in.  
“I-“

“Hastur!” A shrill voice called, something about the sound felt like a hundred threatening bugs, all swarming a decaying corpse.  
“Have you even gone to the surface yet? Or are you still slacking-“

The crowds parted with revelry. The shambling crowds of hell moving with such awe and force that Aziraphale was sure he could sense the fear in them.  
The last of the crowd moved aside, revealing, in all his decaying glory; Lord Beelzebub.

“Ah,” Beelzebub spoke with the same buzz to his tone. Low, almost like static; watchful in a way that such a stature should not provide.  
But it did anyway.  
Beelzebub nodded. His face covered in rotting boils that made Aziraphale want so desperately to turn away.  
“Good. Come with me, Aziraphale,” His tone buzzed like a hundred flies taking flight at once.  
“We have been waiting.” And with that, the small frame of the Prince of Hell began to move, quick and sturdy like the west wind.  
The crowd continued to part for them like Moses to the open seas, and Beelzebub sped up.

“Ah, um, excuse me?” Aziraphale tried to get the Head Demon’s attention. This had to be some sort of scheme, some sort of trick.  
But what? And why?

Nevertheless, Aziraphale pushed on, stepping fast on the sticky ground to keep up wth the quickening pace of the small, yet powerful Demon.  
“I would like you to know that I did not consent to be brought down here one bit!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He had some, bare idea how to get back from here, but really he just needed to try and figure out what was going on.  
And, so far as Crowley had shown him, for Demons, being brief and harsh was the best way to get through to them.

“I would like to be brought back up forthwith!” Aziraphale tried to demand it, the same way Crowley demanded things of these demons.

Beelzebub continued on as if he had not spoken.  
“Did Hastur not inform you?”  
Beelzebub saw no need to turn and face Aziraphale… and there was a rather concerning hum to the tone he bared. It was disturbingly… trusting.   
It turned Aziraphale’s stomach, to say the least.

“I-Inform me?” Aziraphale asked, guard still high as they moved through the crowds. He tried to sound sure of himself, without giving away that he had been down here before. He needed to be angelic; something quite changing under the circumstances.  
“Inform me of what?”

There was a moment of silence.

“Hell has set a feast in your honor,” Hastur spoke, seeming almost proud.

Aziraphale had no time to question it before they got to a large set of doors. Outside of which, two guards stood.  
Loud music, —shockingly pleasant, violin music at that— spilled out from under the large banquet doors.

That’s when the guards saw Aziraphale.  
They bared their teeth, hands tight on the hilts of their weapons, but steady.

After a moment, they loosened their hands, and bowed.

The two guards pushed open the set of large, heavy doors, and from inside was nothing like he ever could have expected.

It was… oddly tidy for hell, still the absolute opposite of barren, but the walls were less covered in grime here, and the dark wooden floors almost seemed well maintained.  
All chatter immediately came to a staggering halt as they entered.  
The room was lit by three large fire-places on each wall of the room, as well as many decorative pyres and candelabra, set seemingly randomly across the room.  
All lit by hellfire, of course. Something that was definitely not becoming relaxing in any form. Though, to the demons, it seemed to be quite.

There was a giant table in the center of the room, stacked with any manner of earthly eats, from all across the land.  
Crowds of demons stood beside the toward the walls, none had dared to sit before their lord had.  
Beelzebub then did something rather uncanny. He offered Aziraphale a seat before himself.

Aziraphale moved to politely reject the offer, but Beelzebub seemed quite serious. Aziraphale could tell by sword at his throat, held by the same guard who had opened the door for him just moments ago.

“The Lord said to sit,” the guard spoke with a red hot fury to his extended blade.

Aziraphale took his seat, and muttered a small ‘thank you’.

“Of course,” Beelzebub spoke with a low hiss, the flies that buzzed about his head mostly continued to do so, though some went for the large roast hog in the center of the table. Lifting a sizable slice up to Beelzebub’s plate as he spoke.  
“You are ze reason this is even happening, Aziraphale,” the demon prince spoke, as demons from all around began to shuffle into their seats.  
They looked absolutely starved, but none dared to even lift their hand for a piece of the displayed dinner; all watching Beelzebub with an undying stare.  
“This feast iz in your honor.”

“Yes, you mentioned that.” Aziraphale spoke slowly. “But why?”

Beelzebub paused a moment, one thing that gave the angel pause was… how impeccable his manners were. He set down his knife and fork, both clinking softly against his plate, dabbing at his face with a napkin…

Some amount of dirt and pus from his boils came off with the few crumbs, causing the angel to turn away. 

“You are not as unlike uz as those above may think.”

Aziraphale blinked harshly.  
“I do beg your pardon?”

“You do yor best to follow heaven, but…” Beelzebub leaned closer. Around them, music played, the scent of scrumptious food —that Aziraphale had yet to taste any of— swirled about, and chatter of demons flowed.  
If they had not been in hell, it would have been almost… pleasant.

“It’z Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun,” Beelzebub shrugged, going back to sawing at his food.  
“One pull of z’ trigger,” he stabbed sharply at the meat, then lifted it, gesturing with the near raw chunk.  
“One misstep,” he took the bite, seeming to swallow it whole, “and you’re gone.”

“You know thiz well.” Beelzebub spoke. He gestured to the food, and a small swarm of flies went over, grabbing a sizable slab of meat from another demon’s plate, slapping it down onto Aziraphale’s.  
The demon looked up for a moment, before casually grabbing himself a new slice.  
The bugs hummed around Aziraphale’s plate for a moment, before returning to their master.

“You were supposed to be burned in hellfire,” Beelzebub spoke slowly, lifting his chalice of wine and taking a gulp.  
“Set as an example, for simply interfering.” He continued, sloshing the liquid around in his cup.

Aziraphale tried to ignore that they had wanted to do the exact same thing to Crowley.  
“Do you not believe hell and heaven should fight, then?” Aziraphale asked, hope burning at the edge of his tongue.  
It felt traitorous to even hope… but if they could get even just one on their side-

“I do. It iz written, after all.” He spoke slowly.  
He set down his chalice. He seemed to be emanating a slow sort of darkness, as the fires around them dimmed, the chatter about them slowed. Even the music seemed to warp.  
“But when Hell triumphs,” There was no doubt in his voice, not even a hint.  
Frankly, it reminded the angel of how Gabriel would speak about the war to end all wars.  
“We plan not to destroy ze earth, Aziraphale. We only wish to give freedom.”

Beelzebub leaned closer.  
“Iz that not the meaning of it all?”  
Beelzebub smiled slowly.  
“Sin is just a state of mind.”

And then the lights and fire were bright again, the chatter and ruckus loud, the sweet scent of the eats in front of them.

Aziraphale blinked, his stomach turned at the assault to his senses.  
How did he…

“So, which is your cup of tea?” Hastur spoke, as if he had not even noticed Aziraphale and Beelzebub’s rather lengthy conversation.

“Pardon?” Aziraphale asked stoutly.

The demon laughed, loud.  
“You were able to survive Hellfire; not only that, but spit it!”  
He laughed like a drunkard, catching up with an old friend.  
“No way in hell you’re all virtue and goodness.” He smiled with his teeth, before tearing into a large leg of meat.

“Come on,” he cheered, chewing his food as he talked. “You can indulge here! Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride,” he prattled on, “shit’s our bread and butter around here.” Hastur grinned like a man given too much power.

“This is, after all,” Hastur gestured, as if proud of the muck around him, “the kingdom of hell.”  
He sounded as if he were expecting praise.

“It is, uh,” Aziraphale smiled unsurely. “…rather cozy.”

They seemed to take it as a complement.  
There was a lull in the conversation, as the others went on to eat their food… Aziraphale found he just couldn’t touch it.

“Is something wrong?” Beelzebub spoke.

“N-No!” Aziraphale lied quickly, “I’m, very flattered, of course, by… all this.” He by no means wanted to offend the head demon.  
Especially in a room full of hellfire that, oddly enough… didn’t feel quite as hot or threatening as it likely should.  
He chalked that up to over-exposure.  
“But i… I really did just eat, and- It’s not that I don’t think it looks good! I just-“

“Well then,” Beelzebub snapped, and one of the guards was instantly at his side.  
“How about we get you something you will want?”

“H-Huh?” Aziraphale asked.  
What on earth could Beelzebub offer him? And why? Was Satan himself privy to this, or was it more off the books?

The Demon Prince snapped his fingers, and then, in his hand, was a small lantern. The flame was red, and a strong energy emanated from within the thin glass.

Every muscle in the angel’s body tensed, as he fought the instinct to summon and spread his wings; remind them just what they were dealing with.

“I-Is that… Hellfire?”  
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK

“It’s a gift,” the demon’s voice was so oddly kind.  
“Something like a… well, a celebration, of our partnership.”  
He smiled, the expression was not kind.

“P-Partnership?!” Aziraphale stuttered out.  
“I have yet to agree to anything!” He exclaimed, aghast.  
He was not about to sign any contract with the devil; thank you very much.

“And I don’t expect you to,” Beelzebub spoke. His voice was so... so disgustingly sure of himself. “Yet.”  
The demon relaxed back into his chair.  
“Only to give it some thought.”

He pushed the lantern forward with the tip of his finger, and Aziraphale once more forced himself not to leap out of his seat and bolt for the nearest exit.  
Anything odd would raise suspicion, and everything hinged on the idea that he was an angel insusceptible to hellfire.

Beelzebub watched him.  
“Besides,” he gestured loosely with a hand  
“With heaven out for you, you may want some… insurance.”

Insurance.  
A word Crowley had used not too long ago for something horrifically similar.

But… the Demon Prince was right. It would be far too good of an offer to pass up without landing some serious suspicion.  
And Aziraphale, for lack of a better word, was cornered.

There was a pause, and that same low darkness seemed to muffle everything once more.

“And what… what kind of….” The angel swallowed his pride, and tried to swallow the stubborn dry lump at the back of his throat.  
“Kind of ‘partnership’, would this imply?”  
Aziraphale watched the flame flicker within the thin glass, unable to peel his eyes away. Any wrong move; it could break, and Aziraphale could be a puff of smoke, and a stain on Hell’s disgusting floor.

“Nothing overwhelming,” Beelzebub assured.  
It did absolutely nothing to calm his nerves.  
“We’d just like you to… check up, on Crowley for us.”

“Excuse me?! Aziraphale exclaimed, immediately standing. His chair screeching across the floor, cracking like thunder. He was sharp and harsh in every movement.  
"And what in heaven’s name makes you think I would betray his trust? For your information-“

The demon lifted his hand, but it felt like a surrender.  
Aziraphale realized a moment later that he had drawn his sword; and though it had yet to ignite, all around were well aware of the danger the holy blade presented.  
There was something in the Demon Prince’s gaze now, as Aziraphale slowly lowered his sword.  
It was almost like… respect.

“I don’t mean anyzhing by it,” the demon prince spoke slowly, his words buzzing with an... odd sense of earnesty.

To this, Aziraphale did not, as he normally would, apologize.  
Instead, he continued to stand.

“Then what exactly did you mean?” Aziraphale hissed, his shoulders pressed in a way that he had only once done in mimicry of Crowley’s confident posture.  
“Because the last time Crowley came down here, you did try to kill him.”

Beelzebub winced slightly at that. And for a moment, Aziraphale could feel he had the upper hand.

“I am sure you understand, due-procesz must be served.” The Demon Prince sat up straighter.  
“And I stand by my conviction; the demon Crowley must be punished for his actions.”  
Around them, demons slowly nodded.  
“But the events of that day… they have taught us all quite a lot, particularly about the power of the earth.”

Aziraphale blinked.  
“…power of the earth?”

“Yes.”  
Beelzebub folded his hands together.  
“After much thought, it has been deduced that it is most likely some… some part of za magical energy that surrounds the human planet. Influenced by both heavenly and hellish magic…” He paused, shrugging.  
“Well, I won't bore you with the details.”  
He smiled.  
“But suffice it to say, we will be sending many demons up to ze surface to test this theory; and we simply wanted to make sure… well, to make sure that Crowley, and you, were aware of this.”

The swallowing darkness was back, crowding him with a vengeance.

“Such that we did not run into any…” Beelzebub’s smile fell, “unfortunate mishaps?”

There was a silent understanding there; you don’t bother us, we don’t put you in a body bag.

Aziraphale could do nothing but nod.

And Beelzebub smiled, the act full of too many teeth.  
He extended a hand.

Aziraphale, after a moment and a deep feeling in his stomach that the demon would not react kindly if he did not, he shook it.

“Good.” Beelzebub spoke, handing the hellfire over to the angel.  
“I look forward to hearing from you.”

“Wha! I-“ was all Aziraphale was able to get out before he felt like he was being tugged away, upward, through the dirt and grime and stone.

Once on flat earth again, Aziraphale stumbled, grasping for purchase on a wall that seemed… familiar.

He was outside his shop.

He looked around. The scent of rain and muck was still thick in the air, and thankfully, he was under his awning, as it was still pouring. 

Several pedestrians looked at him strangely from under their umbrellas, as Aziraphale, with the utmost care, entered his shop. Both firmly grasping the lantern of hellfire, whilst also keeping it at a distance. Dread lining every movement of his form.  
Once he’d entered and shut the door, he moved to the kitchen, where he set the rusted lantern in the center of his dining table; then set some wet cloths around them.   
He nearly blessed them; but quickly decided against it. If Crowley accidentally touched them-

Like a record skipping and then screeching to a halt, Aziraphale’s thoughts halted in it’s tracks.

Crowley.

Aziraphale’s mind whirled at a thousand miles an hour.  
If he had been in Hell, it was almost certain that Heaven took Crowley for similar reasons.  
Aziraphale rushed through every room of his home, peering in any small space a snake could hide.   
After a minute or two, his pace slowed, but his mind only grew more frantic.

He looked out the windows, and it was still raining, though not nearly as harshly.  
It couldn’t’ve possibly been that long.

So where was his demon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cue that one vine of ‘I want to see my little boy’ with the cat*


	5. Between Holy Water and Hellfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something... different now.

Crowley entered the shop only to immediately set the holy water aside. Glad to be rid of it, he dusted off his hands and let out a sigh. Removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes-

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, his chest filled with light as he turned. His features lifted.

Crowley was here! He was okay!!

Crowley turned to meet his companion’s eyes, and he smiled.  
“Azira- omph!” Crowley stumbled only a step as Aziraphale rushed into his arms.

“Oh dearest I’m so glad you’re home,” Aziraphale only let the hug last a second, before pulling off and manhandling his companion, searching for wounds of any sort.  
“Are you alright? Did they hurt you? Are you-“  
The thin, strong hands that grabbed him were… so comforting, even as they constricted the angel such that he could not move.  
They felt like home.  
Aziraphale felt his chin be lifted gently up by some invisible will. Eyes meeting those slitted with the fierceness of water fighting flame.  
Crowley was rigid, his back straight and shoulders tight.

Aziraphale immediately regretted everything. He had got too close; gone too fast.  
He pulled away, laughing awkwardly.

“I-I’m glad you’re okay!” He mumbled.  
Aziraphale didn’t look up.  
And Crowley smiled; and it was soft.

“I’m fine, Angel,” his words so true and genuine they made the angel’s heart ache at the sincerity. And yet, there was something… unsure about them.  
His hand reached out, gently, ever so gently longing for Aziraphale’s hand.  
Aziraphale didn’t notice, and after a moment, he dropped it.

“Are you okay?” Crowley asked quickly, scanning the angel for any wounds before returning to his face.

Aziraphale, still staring at the floor, realized a moment later how close his companion still was. How easily they had fallen into this affection.  
He moved back another step, face slightly pinker than it had been moments ago.

“Y-Yes yes, of course, I’m fine,” Aziraphale was quick to assure. His arms came up to cradle his own chest, it had only been a moment and he already ached for his companion’s touch.  
But he could never take advantage of the demon, not when he knew what… what it would mean. What could happen.  
“I suppose I’m just… rather shaken.” Aziraphale swallowed, trying to distract his falling heart.

Yes. That was the reason for the outburst of affection.  
That, and nothing else.

“Hell contacted me, brought me down even. They held a feast in my honor- Crowley.” Aziraphale addressed, equal parts fear and fury shaking like the edge of an earthquake.  
“They’re trying to get me on their side, Crowley. They wanted me to-to tell them about what you were up to.” His voice gained more and more fury.  
“The-the audacity! The nerve of those… those rude people!!”  
Aziraphale roared. His teeth bared..

Crowley blinked.  
“Well shit.”  
The angel really was overwhelmed by this. And after a moment, Crowley allowed himself to fall under the brunt of his hidden emotion as well.

Crowley ambled to the couch, legs swaying like a drunkard, yet his expression was as sober as ever.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale was immediately at his companion’s side.

“…Fuck.” Crowley said, slumping onto the couch and resting an elbow on his knee, rubbing at his eyes.

“What is it? What happened?” Aziraphale quickly sat down next to him, wings tucked neatly behind. He faced his companion with worry scrawled across his face.

“Heaven… did the exact same thing.” He sighed, the sound low and oh so tired.  
Aziraphale desperately wanted to help… but what could he do?  
“They, they were so- Angel, I could have died,” he spoke, as if finally letting himself feel the panic he had been holding in.

Crowley’s hands clenched tight, grabbing at the tight fabric of his jeans.

Aziraphale desperately wished to grab it… but after a moment, he decided to simply relax. Finally.  
And he laughed; if at nothing else than the absurdity of it all.

There was no reason to laugh of course, no none at all. And maybe that was why it was so funny. Nonsense, nothingness, just the sway of the world as two men who had only just saved the world fell into another spiral of traps and plots.

God, how they were tired. How they wished they could be done.  
But through it all, they caught glimpses of each other.  
And somehow, it was worth it.

“I’m so fuckin’ tired,” Crowley sighed loudly after a last bout of laughter.  
Aziraphale nodded sagely.

“Lets go for a walk.” Aziraphale chimed, sitting up a tad straighter.  
They both definitely needed the distraction…

“I dunno,” Crowley shrugged, a smirk hanging at the edge of his lips, “the last time I did that I got snagged by heaven.”

Aziraphale just leaned closer and beamed.  
“Then I’ll just have to keep you safe then, wont i?”

Crowley softened.  
He could never say no to his angel.  
“Sure,” He nodded, standing. “lets go.”

Both shuffled around, grabbing coats and else of such. The sun was setting now, and it was bound to get cold.

“Have you seen my hat?” Crowley asked, fumbling through the mixture of coats and stacks of books at the front of the small shop.

“I do believe it’s still in the kitchen,” Aziraphale chimed. Tying a scarf around his neck and tucking it into his waistcoat as he approached the door.

Crowley moved past him and toward the kitchen… and that’s when Aziraphale felt it.  
Something here was… wrong.

He took pause, searching for the source of the familiar, yet oddly unnerving feeling.  
Then, he noticed a pitcher of water sitting off to the side of a bookshelf.

Just the same moment Crowley saw the hellfire.

Both took twin pause at the sight.  
And just like that, their little oasis was gone, and they were plunged back into the depths.

“Angel,” Crowley called out slowly. He stared at the black, rusted lantern, and the small eternal flame within.

“Yes dear?” Despite the tilt to the end of his words, there was no question to it.  
Both stared at the one thing in the world that could kill their companion; and maybe that was why they could feel their stomachs turning so harshly. Why neither wanted to touch it.

“Did you happen to mention that they gave you hellfire?” Crowley asked, watching the flame. Long ago, it had been calming. Feeling the flames wash over him, even as ‘Aziraphale’ in heaven. It had flowed over him much like a hot shower; somehow both singeing and relaxing at the same time.

But now, this was different.  
It just felt… dangerous.

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” Aziraphale spoke, his voice slow from the other room. Unmoving.

“Of course.” Crowley nodded, voice a state of calm only achieved when one’s nervous system flew so far in the other direction, past panic and fear, into a reserved blank sort of shutdown.

“…and you were given holy water?” Aziraphale asked

He watched the pale liquid through the container. Long ago, it held some sort of… ease. Purity; a connection to heaven that allowed the angel to feel safe.

But now, this was different.  
It felt… wrong.

“Yeah.” 

In a mirrored moment of total panic-fueled shutdown, they both lifted the respective containers.

“I have a safe,” Crowley confessed, “at my place.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked, as if this were something he didn’t already know.

“Yes, I could… take them.”

Both were doing everything they could to preserve the moment’s peace; ignore the truth that was reeling back like the waves on a beach before a tsunami, pulling like the taught string on a bow before the fatal shot.

“Alright.” Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley snapped, and both of the items were gone.  
“There,” he smiled, it felt like a lie, “all better.”

It, of course, absolutely wasn’t. Not by any dictionary in the world.  
But the Angel —if he could even be called that anymore— nodded anyway.

“Shall we?” Aziraphale asked. All he wanted now was to get away.  
And if Crowley could help, even the smallest amount; well who was he to say no?


	6. In Search of Silver Linings, We Discover Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is trying to save the world, again, and Crowley reminds him what it's all for.

Dusk fell slow across the horizon, the streetlights and buildings beginning to illuminate the night like stars, shining in the distance.  
Crowley walked next to Aziraphale, the angel’s pale hands wrapped around the carved birch handle of his white umbrella.   
The rain had slowed to a drizzle now, if even that, and yet, the angel did not seem to have noticed quite yet.

Crowley had always thought Aziraphale looked lovely lost in thought. It was one look that had suited him since the dawn of time. Something that, to Crowley, would never go out of style.

Aziraphale was smart, almost eerily at times. He had a certain uncanny intelligence to him that, if Crowley were human, he may have thought of as divine. The angel was clever too, but it was more than that… It was something that really couldn’t be taught, learned from a book, —no matter how many the Angel hoarded— or even really put down in words.  
He was good. Not just in an altruistic sense, though Crowley supposed that may fit as well.   
Aziraphale was good; more as a broad skill. Good at hiding things, good at making sure what he cared about never got hurt, hence his little bookshop never going under.  
Good at making use of what he had; hence why Crowley was still around.

Aziraphale was good in the same way dynamite exploding is good; because it has its purpose, but just because it was created in one way does not mean anyone, or anything, can truly control it.  
And anyone who thought they could, well they were in for one rude awakening. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale addressed, his words intoned with a strict sort of seriousness.

He stopped moving, and so Crowley did too.

“Yeah?” Crowley asked.

“When they brought you up,” Aziraphale looked at him, but it was more like he was looking through him.  
“How did it feel?”

“Like… when I was literally brought up?” He made a tugging motion upward with his hand.  
“Or more, when I was actually,” he made another odd gesture, “up there.”

Aziraphale nodded strictly.  
“When you were up there.” He confirmed.  
“Did it… burn?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley took pause.  
“No, actually. It didn’t.”  
Crowley would have asked why, but he already knew. The angel was trying his hardest to piece it all together, to figure out Heaven and Hell’s plan so they could formulate their next move.

“Hm.” Aziraphale hummed, similar to a man putting together a puzzle, methodically sorting through the pieces, moving them, twisting them.  
Then, he was walking again.

Crowley skipped a step to catch up. Had the Angel actually figured something out? Already?

“Hey! What do you mean ‘hm’?” He hummed exaggeratedly, curiosity having gotten the best of him.

“Well,” Aziraphale muttered.  
He looked Crowley in the eyes, for real this time.

“When I was in hell, it felt… different.” Aziraphale leaned closer for a moment, as if still waiting for someone to catch them.  
“From, you know, the first time?” He spoke in a hush.

Crowley blinked.  
“Oh?” Was all he said. He hadn’t really thought much of it, but looking back… it had felt different.  
Really, really different, actually. 

“Quite,” Aziraphale muttered with a nod, tapping a finger on his cheek.  
“As, well, as you, I remembered Hell seeming far more… crowded. Much like a sewer really.”  
Crowley knew the angel wasn’t trying to offend, but damn, could he be a savage.  
Aziraphale continued.  
“And every moment down there felt like… well, like hell.”  
He looked down.  
“It felt like something in the pit of my stomach was recoiling every second I was down there. Like I was being suffocated.”  
He looked up again, watching the scenery.  
“And yet this time it seemed almost like…” He waved his hands as if trying to grasp the words.

There was a moment of silence.

“A castle?” Crowley guessed.

Aziraphale, caught off guard, nodded shakily.

“Yeah, no, I understand completely,” Crowley muttered. His memories of Heaven as Aziraphale were….

‘Shut your stupid mouth, and die already.’

Well they weren’t great.

“When, well, when I was you,” Crowley said, as if the topic were a fraught one.  
Aziraphale just tilted his head.  
“It was like… Fuck it was cold. And it burnt every step of the way,” Crowley’s lips pressed to a thin line; apprehensive, thoughtful.

The way Gabriel had said it-  
He really did want Aziraphale dead, didn’t he?

“But, today,” Crowley shook those thoughts out of his head. There was no use in stressing over it now, anyway.  
“It was just like a… like a disinfected mansion with big white… white everything.”

He paused.  
“And it didn’t burn.”  
Crowley looked down at his shoes, his hands.

Why didn’t he burn?

They both stood in silence for a minute more.  
Then, Aziraphale groaned. A hand ran up to rub at his eyes.  
Suddenly, the angel just looked so, so desperately tired.

“Angel,” Crowley spoke immediately, “We don’t have to solve this now.” He assured.  
“I’m sure we have at least a few days,” he reasoned, he lifted a hand to grab Aziraphale’s shoulder… and decided against it at the last second, instead raising it to brush the hair from his forehead.

Aziraphale shook his head.  
There was something melancholic about the way he smiled. Much like hearing happy singing from the inside of a church, while you’re stuck out in the cold.  
“I’m fine, dear boy,” Aziraphale spoke swiftly.

Crowley could tell his companion was lying; he was growing frustrated.

It was as if God, Heaven, Hell and Satan had put together a puzzle so that the end result was the picture they wanted it to be, and it was up to Crowley and Aziraphale to… to re-jigger it, so the puzzle didn’t kill them and the earth in the process.

Crowley knew it wasn’t the best metaphor, but he had never claimed to be good at them.

So they just continued to march onward; silent.

Then, finally looking up at the streets, Crowley realized just where they were.  
A devilish smirk came to his face.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale, who had delved straight back into his thought, went rigid as he realized that Crowley was no longer at his side.

He searched around frantically, only to realize a moment later that Crowley had begun to strut ahead, long legs taking him wherever the hell he was going uncomfortably fast.

“Crowley! Crowley where on earth-“

Crowley twisted around on his heel, walking backward so that he could face the Angel.  
“Come on,” Crowley beamed, with such a genuine zest that Aziraphale nearly melted into the cracked and wet pavement.  
“We’re getting ice-cream.” And with that, Crowley was strutting off.

“Oh bollocks,” Aziraphale huffed as he realized that Crowley was not going to slow down.  
He shuffled quickly to catch up, at the same time fighting to take down his umbrella, as he finally seemed to notice that it was no longer raining.

And amongst the chase, and the general aura of good-centered mischief that Crowley seemed to be emanating… it was just them, in that moment.

And that was enough.

After some huffing, puffing, and a much smaller amount of yelling than Crowley expected, Aziraphale caught up with him; just in time for them to be right outside their favorite ice-cream parlor, which was for some reason still open at such an hour.

Neither noticed this particular oddity.  
And they got their usual.

“Vanilla with a flake, and a… strawberry lolly, please,” Aziraphale asked with a kind smile. Crowley paid, after all it had been his turn.  
Not that it mattered… but it just seemed nicer this way.

They walked away from the stand with a ‘jolly good’ and a wave, each happily enjoying their treat of choice.  
They made their way to a nearby bench, and somehow, the air was far clearer now. The moonlight far kinder, and the pedestrian’s chatter down to a far off murmur.

It was nice.

Crowley looked over at the angel, having already finished his ice-cream. Aziraphale had always liked to savor things. He had always had so much more patience than Crowley.

Aziraphale looked up, and only then did Crowley realize he had been staring. 

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale asked with a chuckle, a delicate hand wiping at the corners of his mouth.  
“Do I have something on my face?”  
Aziraphale’s lips had been stained red from his ice lolly.

Crowley averted his eyes sharply.  
“Nope! You’re good.”

Aziraphale paused.  
His eyes narrowed, he took another lick of his treat.  
Crowley stared at the ground.

“Then what is it?” Aziraphale asked, curious.  
There was a pause.  
“Come to think of it,” Aziraphale spoke slowly, like a detective who’s about to tell everyone who the criminal really is in one of those ‘who done it’ books that the angel seemed to enjoy.  
“You never instigate ice-cream.” He spoke with narrow eyes.  
He shifted his weight, and Crowley swallowed.

“And I’m not allowed to be spontaneous?” Crowley asked. It was a weak defense and he knew it.

“In any other case, I’d of course say you could, but currently,” Aziraphale spoke, his chin lifted.  
“I would say no.”

Aziraphale paused, then his eyebrows raised.  
He gasped, and Crowley cringed.  
He’d been caught.

“You’re trying to distract me from thinking about what happened today, aren’t you?!” Aziraphale’s hands were on his hips now, as he stood; which was never a good sign.

“You know we cannot simply ignore this Crowley,” he scolded, tutting a finger like a disappointed teacher.  
He turned, beginning to pace.  
“If we cannot figure out what to do, we will have no plan. And without a plan-“

“Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupted softly, but the angel was reeling now.

“Honestly dear boy, it is not as if we could simply-simply start fisticuffs and be done with it!“ Aziraphale gestured loudly.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley tried again.

“They have armies Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “We are holding out on a lie that could so easily be discovered. I-“

Thin hands grabbed his shoulders, and suddenly there was nothing between him and those gold, slitted eyes.

“Aziraphale, I know you.” Crowley stood just inches from him, holding him tight.

“I know you better than anyone, and this?” He hissed, gesturing with one hand, the other still grasping the angel’s shoulder.

“This is not productive,” he insisted.  
“You’re-You’re thinking yourself in circles! And it’s just going to burn you out.”  
Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale stayed silent.

“I just…” Aziraphale tried.  
The fight drained from him.

A sigh followed, soft in the street lights, and short golden locks fell forward as Aziraphale bowed his head.

“No…” he shook his head, and looked up to Crowley.  
“You’re right.”  
He seemed so awfully tired.  
“I suppose…” Aziraphale paused, sitting back down on the bench.  
“…Oh I don’t even really know.”  
He leaned his head back, letting at a low, surrendering laugh. A hand went up to rub at his tired eyes.

And from there… Crowley really had no idea where to go.  
So he just watched the angel, who looked so… so utterly defeated.

He slid back on his glasses.

The air around them was murky and warm and slowly drying out, the loose chatter amongst those walking… somehow soothing. It assured them both that they weren’t alone, he supposed.  
He knew, in that moment, even if it all turned pear shaped from here, there was no place he’d rather be.  
Earth.  
It had become something of a home to him.

Crowley dimly remembered all his years working alongside God, before the great fall.  
He had never imagined such a minuscule marble of blue and green could mean so much to him.  
Crowley watched Aziraphale from the corner of his glasses, silhouetted by the light of a nearby street light. Like a halo, but not of heaven. Of earth.  
Then again, he had never imagined anyone could mean as much to him as Aziraphale did.

Aziraphale breathed in, as if preparing himself to speak.  
Crowley, careful to give him space, but still wanting to give him his full attention, turned, sunglasses perched low on the edge his nose.

“I just…” Aziraphale spoke slowly, hands folding tightly in his lap.  
His head was lulled against the back of the bench, watching.

“I just so dearly wish I could see the stars. You know… from up there.”  
He swallowed, hands wringing together as if trying desperately to wash something from them.  
“Just one last time.” He stared up at the sky above.  
There was too much light pollution to be able to see more than one or two pinpricks of light, and he sighed.  
“I always thought they were so beautiful.”

Looking at the stars had always felt so peaceful.  
And for Aziraphale… well, they reminded him of someone he had lost long ago.

Aziraphale… well, he had fallen in love long, long ago, far too long ago for anyone but himself to remember.

It had been with another angel at the time; of course it had, demons didn’t exist yet.

And Aziraphale… well, he had been a bit of a hot-head back then. Before the earth and life had mellowed him; he had been a weapon of god.

This angel had helped to create many of the stars; and their work was amazing. The light of the solar systems they created shone across the galaxy.  
But all Aziraphale ever had the courage to do was watch.

Aziraphale felt something shift next to him.  
So he turned.

“I know a place,” Crowley offered, he was standing, one hand extended to the Angel.

Aziraphale blinked.  
“Pardon?”

Crowley rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, the other still offered to the angel.  
“I… Well, sometimes I miss the stars too.” He admitted.  
“So… I found a place to watch them. It’s not to far…”  
He looked down and away. Had he presumed too much?  
“If you’d like to-“

A soft pale hand took his, and the angel was standing.  
And he smiled.

“I would love to.”


	7. Until You Hit the Ground, You’re Still Flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley grow closer.

There were some parts of trust that they had become quite used to; some touches that, over thousands upon thousands of years, had simply become part of their routine. Crowley would often open the door for Aziraphale. And Aziraphale tended to make sure they had useful things like umbrellas, coats, and on one notable occasion, shoes.  
To that odd memory, Aziraphale leaned over and peered down; if only to distract himself from how bloody fast the other was driving.  
Crowley was in fact wearing shoes. Black ones, with a snake-skin sheen and two silver buckles.  
He supposed that may be a demon thing; wearing the earthly skin of one’s own form. Or perhaps it was a self-loathing thing.  
With Crowley at least, they were often intertwined.

Aziraphale looked over, the streetlights glancing across the demons skin at a rapid rate, then turning into a blur growing farther and farther behind them.  
Out here there really weren’t that many people, just long fields and a slowly growing amount of trees.  
Maybe that was why there was a certain… peace, to it.  
A tranquility to the silence.

Or maybe Aziraphale was just lying to himself because he didn’t know what to say.  
Unconsciously, he twiddled his thumbs.  
Crowley just stared ahead into the road. Thin, long fingers curled around the wheel with absolute control and ease. Small movements at this speed could cause drastic consequences, and even with that pressure, they were steady.  
Aziraphale’s own hands twitched in his lap.

Like an alcoholic staring at empty liquor cabinet; he desperately needed the distraction, but there was nothing there.  
Empty bottles, empty words.  
A long empty road ahead.

They could talk about what was on both of their minds; but that would be quite out of character.  
They could talk about Hell and Heaven, about all that came with them.  
Aziraphale looked over, and as if he could feel it, Crowley gripped the wheel tighter.  
They swerved slightly.  
Aziraphale decided that they were not quite up for that discussion yet.

And Aziraphale did not blame either of them.  
The angel looked out upon the broken expanse, and, after a moment, allowed it to drift over him. Falling into a meditative state.  
He too, felt just… tired. So overwhelmingly tired.

Armageddon.  
Heaven vs Hell.  
Heaven vs Hell vs… whatever the hell they were.

Hadn’t they just done this?

“Angel,” The first thing Aziraphale noticed was that Crowley seemed worried.  
The second thing he noticed was that they were stopped, at a small car-park at the top of a tall hill none-the-less. The pavement was cracked and the brush had nearly re-taken the place; yet still, it was here.  
And so were they.

“Yes dear?” Aziraphale asked, blinking.

Crowley paused for a moment, then, he shook his head, as if laughing at his own private joke.  
Crowley pulled open the door with a gentle click, as he did, the feeling of freshness flooded into the old car. Brisk night air, the gentle chirp of crickets and rustle of small animals. It was a world so far flung from the one they usually inhabited.

“Come on,” Crowley huffed, a smile delicately gracing his lips.  
His sunglasses glinted in the slight lights from the car.

“What a gentleman,” Aziraphale snarked, mindlessly taking the hand offered to him, Crowley just rolled his eyes as he helped the angel up.  
Their hands lingered just a moment longer, before falling away.

“Well,” Crowley tutted, throwing the door closed and leaning his back against it, arching into the familiar frame.  
“You’ve got to’ve influenced me somehow over all these years.” 

Crowley realized a moment later, pulling down his sunglasses to see more clearly in the darkness, that Aziraphale was no longer listening.

Aziraphale seemed to be staring off into the distance.

And Crowley did have to admit, it was quite the view.  
Thick, trim grass off the long edge of the cliffside, a few trees, ending in a unfinished fence a few feet off the steep edge. At one point this had been a park, and Crowley was sure that Aziraphale could feel that much.  
The angel was likely busy soaking in the love of the young couples who had their first kisses under these trees, or the young children who played here, or whatever other sappy things likely went down long ago.

But to Crowley, none of that mattered. Call him impatient, but he had always been a ‘here and now’ type of guy.  
He’d always been rather selfish too.  
And maybe that was why he’d kept this place to himself for so long, or maybe that was why he drank in the clear awe on Aziraphale’s face so greedily.  
Crowley looked back up at the sky.  
From here, you could see galaxies; a watercolor of the black midnight sky. Flecks of light among, giving just enough interest that one could never truly capture in any work of art.

Crowley came here when things got bad; it reminded him of better days, of a heaven that wasn’t so cold and a God that bothered with Her creations.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, his voice was high and tight.

Oh fuck, had Crowley upset him?  
Crowley took a wary few steps closer, fearing the worst; that he had somehow reminded the angel of heaven, which had only ever been unkind to Aziraphale. Or had-  
Crowley then realized; the angel was grinning.  
From ear to ear, with glittering eyes and a beautiful smile and all the other sappy stuff you’d expect to hear from a demon who had been love for several thousand years.

You would have thought Crowley would be used to it.  
But the feeling stayed stubbornly new.

And thus, Crowley did his best not to wedge his foot firmly in his mouth, —not something he’d ever been good at avoiding around the beautiful angel— as he spoke.  
“I-It’s not much, but…”  
He coughed into his hand, turning to look up at the sky again, the brush in the other direction, basically just trying to remind his body that it was under his control, and that he would not act like some flustered schoolboy with a crush.  
Even if he was on the inside.

“Lord,” Aziraphale sighed into the brisk midnight air, “it’s so… so open!” He lifted his arms, whirling around. His coat flopped about in the breeze.  
His eyes met Crowley’s, and the demon was unable to fight his truly infectious smile.  
“Dear boy, it’s so free.”

Aziraphale paused, turning again, facing away from the demon.  
His arms fell.

Aziraphale looked up.

“When I was in hell, I felt as if... well, i felt trapped.” Aziraphale confessed, half to his companion, and half just to the open air and stars above. He wrapped his arms around himself.  
Crowley did not reply.  
“I wanted so desperately to spread my wings,” Aziraphale confessed, with such longing that Crowley could feel the emotion pulse in his chest.

Crowley paused for a moment, raising his eyebrows and leaning to the side against a nearby tree.  
“Well,” Crowley shrugged, “why don’t you?”

“What?” Aziraphale’s head snapped back with such energy and force that a human would have likely gotten whiplash, “h-here?”  
Crowley smiled. For the smartest person he knew, the angel could be so incredibly dumb.

“Why not?”  
Crowley smiled fiercely.  
“Don’t worry,” he mocked with a stage whisper, “I can keep a secret.”

Aziraphale took a step closer to swat at him, and Crowley barked out a laugh.  
But his angel was smiling.

Aziraphale paused shyly.  
“Alright,” he amended, “but if you sense anyone coming, you must tell me,” he insisted.

Crowley took the moment to be sincere.  
“Of course Angel. Have I ever let you down?”

Aziraphale gave him a look.

“Oh shut up!” Crowley spoke in mock offense.

Aziraphale shook his head and smiled, then, with a moment’s focus, the air was filled with softness, and an odd sort of light. Not quite like a light bulb had been turned on; more gradual, and originating from both nothing and everything in the area, for just that moment.  
And then, there they were.

Filling the air with the same soft joy that snowfall on Christmas might, the wings grew wide and long, stretching out to their full and massive length.  
Aziraphale stretched like a man who had just gotten off a ten hour plane flight; satiated, energized and exhausted all at once.

Aziraphale turned, seeming to remember Crowley’s existence after a moment.  
He laughed, the sound oddly… insecure.  
“I feel odd as the only one with theirs… out.”

Crowley knew he was referring to his wings, but that didn’t stop the flush that overthrew his features.

“Really? I literally took them out yesterday,” Crowley deadpanned.

“…Please?” Aziraphale asked.  
And that was enough; it always was.

Crowley sighed exaggeratedly, sauntering away from the tree he’d been leaning against and further into the cozy open field, consequently bringing him closer to Aziraphale.  
“Fine,” he obliged.

There was a feeling like weight in the air, almost a comforting sort of pressure and darkness, not like being put in a vice or blindfolded… more like being rolled up under so many blankets that you can’t move.

And then, there they were.  
Aziraphale smiled.  
He had always found Crowley’s wings to be absolutely beautiful.  
Like the night sky, they gave this feeling of absolute freedom, Of warmth and care and all the other things that heaven hated and hell despised even worse. The wings spread for a moment, stretching, before folding loosely behind his back.  
Aziraphale watched those wings as if they held the swirling universe in their flutter. And maybe, long ago, they had.But now they were like Crowley himself; with hidden scars from long ago, tired and beaten in a way that could never heal.

“I know I only saw them yesterday…” Aziraphale spoke, stepping closer, entire form wrapt with fascination, “and yet…”  
He looked from the wings to the demons face, and back again. Each with a wrapt fascination and earnest endearment that left Crowley feeling… well, rather undeserving of such a gaze.  
“I always seem for forget how perfect they are.”

There was something unspoken there.

‘How perfect you are, Crowley.’

Aziraphale paused a moment as his hand reached out, expecting the calm, home-like softness of the only set of wings he could ever think as beautiful; only to instead find a cool hand embracing his own.

Crowley turned to face the angel, who’s eyes seemed to be simply sparkling in the moonlight.  
Damn him.  
Damn them both, actually. Because if they ever do face the consequences, they would damn well do it the same way they’ve done everything; together, until the end.

“W-What?” Crowley asked defensively, his hand still gripping Aziraphale’s soft, warm one.  
He moved to pull away; he had definitely overstepped this time-

Aziraphale gripped his hand tighter, and Crowley could feel his bones turning to jelly.

Aziraphale smiled.

“This is something humans do, right?” The angel asked.  
Aziraphale squeezed his hand once more. Soft and gentle, oh so gentle.

Crowley’s head turned away from the angel, so that he could not see the pain held there as his face fell.  
Of course.  
To Aziraphale, this was just another dance into what being ‘human’ might be.  
It wasn’t real, how could it be?  
Then, Crowley blinked, almost as if a realization had hit him out of nowhere.

With emboldened hands he slipped one around the angel’s waist.  
Dancing was one ‘human’ thing he had always wished to try with his Angel, but they’d never really gotten the chance.  
This may be simple exploration into humanity for the angel… but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be more, just for the night, for Crowley.

“C-Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, looking up at him with such large, blue eyes that seemed to light up the night sky.  
Aziraphale… he belonged here; where it was peaceful. Where life was good.  
His angel did not deserve another war; and though they may not be able to stop it… maybe they could ignore it. Just for the night.

“It’s another human thing,” Crowley said, gently lying to himself; and he smiled.  
To Aziraphale, Crowley had always looked like the stars; beautiful, and much too far away.

“A waltz,” Crowley called it, tugging him gently closer, yet giving him every option to pull away.

Aziraphale smiled. The feeling, like the warmth of the sun and the itself flooded through him, spawning at the points of touch that Crowley gave with less than a thought.

“I…” Aziraphale looked up, melting into the touch. “I think I see the appeal.” 

Though Aziraphale was quite certain they had never done this before... something about it felt familiar; like a hot cup of tea in your favorite chair, or the sound of an old favorite song. Being in his arms was like coming home, and like running away together, all in the same, simple sways.  
Slowly, their movements became more grand, their steps emboldened and their chests pressed close as their dance began to move across the field. Crowley twirled the angel, and he let out a surprised laugh as he came back to rest in the demon’s arms. Aziraphale smiled up at Crowley, who was silhouetted in the moonlight. Against his back was a sky full of stars that those large dark wings seemed to brush against.  
An infinity away, and yet so close.  
Aziraphale leaned in, his eyes half lidded and full of something more than friendship. Crowley’s heart beat rapidly in his chest, his breath caught and-

Crowley lost his step as the edge of the cliff crumbled beneath his step.  
He gripped tight onto the tan vest of his angel.  
And still he slipped, and down he fell.

“CROWLEY!” Aziraphale yelled, his knees buckled. A hand outstretched over the edge of the cliff, but Crowley was too far down now.

God damn it, why wasn’t he flying?

“Give me strength,” he muttered as he took a deep breath and dove over the cliff face.

Crowley panicked as he fell, faster and faster. Every time he tried to use his wings they would buckle back - the rushing winds were too strong for him to fight.  
Inwardly he battled against the memories of the other time he had fallen from such a hight. They could not overtake him, not now, not when he could be discorporated and back in hell where the world wanted him dead.

A blur of soft white came down beside him, diving as if trying to save a drowning man.

“Crowley fly!!” Aziraphale yelled, his voice was muffled by the whipping winds.

“I’m bloody trying!!” Crowley screamed. He had wanted to sound agitated, but it came out as a terrified cry.

He hadn’t been able to fly since he’d been cast from heaven.  
He had been to damaged, and it hurt far too much to try.

Crowley extended his wings again, a swell of air gathering beneath them as he pumped them uselessly against the harsh air that continued to rush agains them.  
He hadn’t done this in too long, he wasn’t strong enough, the fall had broken him, burnt away his wings and he just couldn’t do it-

Arms.  
Warm, far stronger and softer than they had any right to be, grabbed him tight.  
And yet, they continued to fall.

“A-Angel?” Crowley shuttered.

“Just spread your wings and hold on, okay?”  
Aziraphale’s voice was calm and commanding, and somehow, even as they plummeted to what must surely be their dis-corporation, it felt…  
Safe.

So, as he always had and always would, Crowley trusted the Angel.  
He grabbed around the angel’s waist as tight as he could.

Aziraphale could see the ground coming closer, closer, almost there…  
He tilted his wings up, taking them, instead of into the ground, horizontal against it.  
Crowley could feel the edge of his feather’s slide against the treetops, and with a few strong beats of his wings, and a lot of good momentum, Aziraphale pulled upward.

And just like that, they were flying.

Crowley breathed in, filled with a moment of total wonder. They lifted upward, their momentum slowing as they grew closer to the stars.  
Crowley looked up at galaxies he had once helped to create, for once without any sense of loss.  
It was like he as back there again, space just a small infinity away.

And yet, it was better here.

On an instinct he wasn’t sure he still even had, his wings began to flap. Slow swells of air puffing under them. Crowley looked down as if to watch the air move.  
Surely Aziraphale was still doing more to hold them both up- as to why he hadn’t let go yet.

But damn it, Crowley was doing it!

“Angel, I-“

Small twinkling beads fell infinitely to the ground below, and the angel’s arms, which shuttered with each choked breath, tightened around him.

Only then did Crowley realize; the angel was crying.

“Oh Aziraphale,” Crowley spoke like a lullaby, just soft enough to be soothing, just quiet enough to calm, and never anything more.

Aziraphale pulled back, a giant grin across his face, eyes filled with tears and moonlight.

“You can fly!!!” He exclaimed, he swung around, pulling Crowley in a circle and then up, up farther into the open sky.  
His hands were warm in Crowley’s, so very soft and warm.  
Awkwardly, Crowley’s wings continued to beat behind him, making him bob up and down like a buoy, lost in the open ocean.

“You,” Aziraphale sniffed, pausing. He let go of one hand to wipe his sleeve across tearful eyes, “I’m s-sorry,” he gripped his arm around himself, pulling to do the same with the other, but Crowley refused to let go.  
“It’s silly, but that truly did scare me,” Aziraphale whispered.

Neither of them could afford to be discorporated at this point. That would mean giving their prospective ‘sides’ bartering pieces against them.  
They could be kept there for eternity, there was no telling if Aziraphale’s trick could work twice.  
Inhabiting bodies that were not their own… it wasn’t exactly pleasant, that much Crowley knew from experience. 

But here, now, there was no point to worry over it.  
Crowley was fine, and he was determined to show that.

They may be falling, but that was okay.

So, the demon pulled himself closer, tucking Aziraphale’s chin into the his shoulder.  
“It’s okay,” Crowley whispered.

They hadn’t hit the ground yet.


End file.
